"I never thought I'd be so ready to go back to school."

The words left his mouth in heavy sigh as he perused through Quality Quidditch Supplies, his uncle at his side. As one of the youngest children of his generation, Beckett Longbottom was less than twice his age and was easier to interact with than, say, Aunt Rufina. Their shared interests—quidditch, specifically—only made Eldin more comfortable speaking to him as if he were his older brother rather than his mother's younger one.

"I guess that's because I have more to look forward to this year," he said, flashing a grin in his uncle's direction. "Less classes and more quidditch—maybe we'll win the cup this year and you'll have reason to draft me to your team." He was joking, of course; he hadn't yet decided where his future career might lie, and while quidditch was definitely an option, it wasn't the likeliest of them. Despite the differences between him and his mother, their dedication towards their ambitions was the same—except Eldin couldn't decide on just one ambition.

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